


Cosmopolitan

by idleside



Series: Revel [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Casual Sex, Complete, Dirty Talk, F/F, Grinding, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Lesbian Sex, One Shot, Rimming, Scissoring, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27041242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idleside/pseuds/idleside
Summary: Pansy's trip to Milan wassupposedto be an escape from the doldrums of Britain, and yet as soon as she arrives, she finds that things aren't working out the way that she had expected.First, the hotel she's staying at has made a mistake of some sort, claiming that her reservation -Initials 'P.P.', by way of Hogwarts- has already been checked-in.Second, when she finds that they've somehow managed to book two people in one room, she was never expecting the other person to be Padma Patil.Third, there's only one damn bed.As it turns out, anumberof Pansy's expectations wind up being blown away during the six nights she stays there.(Independent one-shot, but also a prequel to theTriplicity series)
Relationships: Padma Patil/Pansy Parkinson
Series: Revel [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959004
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64
Collections: Folie A Trois Full Fics





	Cosmopolitan

There were many things which annoyed Pansy Parkinson: the sound of an infant crying, weak coffee, or being unable to find her lighter, to name a few.

Of all the nuisances which would spoil her mood when she encountered them, _incompetence_ was perhaps the most irksome, and she could find no other way to describe the display in front of her. The hotel’s concierge was visibly sweating under the intensity of her frustrated glare, flipping back and forth through different pages of his registry, attempting (and failing) to discover the reason why her reservation had apparently just _disappeared_.

This was to have been her first trip outside the borders of Magical Britain since her probation had first begun; a six-day vacation to Milan to attend the Wizarding equivalent of fashion week. The idea that the sheer _incompetence_ of this hapless concierge might endanger her plans had her worked up enough that she was minutes (at best) from causing a scene.

“ _Un momento,_ ” the man spoke again, following it up with his obsequious chuckle (irritating laughs were about number seven on Pansy’s list of annoyances) once again: _“Eh-hehhh_.”

Pansy began to tap her foot against the floor as her frustration built, hoping that the man who the concierge flagged down would be able to enlighten her as to the cause of this problem, for _all_ of their sakes.

The two men spoke back and forth in rapid-fire Italian, the concierge pointing nervously at a page of the registry opened in front of him, prompting an exaggerated sigh and a gesture of admonishment from the other man.

“Ah, we are sorry for the inconvenience, Miss…” the second man – who she decided she’d call “Slick”, befitting the oily hair he’d parted in the middle of his head – spoke to her, “it appears that there has been a… complication.”

“Has there?” Pansy’s tone was ice-cold, and the rate at which she was tapping the toe of her heels against the floor increased.

“Yes… we know that you had a _special_ reservation, but, _le nostre scuse,_ it appears that you have already signed in,” Slick winced, as the tapping of Pansy’s foot _stopped_.

“I most certainly have _not_ ,” Pansy derided him, “as I’m nowhere near foolish enough to have somehow _forgotten_ that I’d somehow arrived already.”

“Ah, you see,” Slick took the book from the concierge’s grasp, turning it about to indicate a specific line to Pansy, “we have the reservation here: Miss ‘P.P.’, staying for six nights, arriving by way of Hogwarts.”

This particular hotel was not a purely _magical_ one, but neither was it a _Muggle_ establishment: as Pansy still wasn’t permitted the use of her wand, she’d figured that it had struck a satisfactory middle ground for her needs, so she’d made a reservation using the specific code-phrases that indicated which of their clientele were Wizards or Witches.

 _Initials and the magical school you attended,_ she recalled, _which is just what they’ve got recorded._

“I fail to see the problem,” Pansy drawled, “that is _indeed_ my reservation.”

“Yes, _scuse_ , the problem, you see, is that someone has already signed in under this reservation…”

Pansy rolled her eyes, then rummaged in her bag to produce her I.C.W. passport, stamped and signed with her conditional travel visa.

“ _Pansy Parkinson_ ,” she emphasized, “as you can see, arriving by way of Hogwarts.”

The two men shared a glance, and the concierge made another nervous “eh-hehhh” noise, as the last bits of Pansy’s patience began to fray away.

“Ah, let us see if we can resolve this,” Slick finally continued, “follow me, please, Miss Parkinson.”

Pansy ensured that her heels _clicked_ as loudly as possible as she walked behind the man, her Muggle-style suitcase rolling behind her as he led her through the hotel, taking an elevator to the third floor.

They stopped outside of room 303, where Slick swallowed nervously before knocking on the door, clearing his throat before announcing himself.

“ _Una_ moment of your time, please,” he called into the shut door, at _whoever_ had stolen Pansy’s reservation inside.

A short while later, the door swung open, revealing a somewhat-familiar face, and Pansy could restrain herself no longer: she sighed with exasperation, instantly realizing that the _incompetence_ of the hotel’s system went further than she had suspected.

“Can I help you?” the Indian witch who was taking residence in the room asked, glancing at Slick and then to Pansy, a flash of recognition crossing her face.

 _Since that surely isn’t Parvati, so she can only be Padma,_ Pansy rationalized, _and of course, Padma fucking Patil has the initials ‘P.P.’ just like I do._

“Sorry to trouble,” Slick explained, “we have encountered, ah, an inconsistency with your reservation. Would you mind to show your passport, _per favore?_ ”

Padma retreated into the room briefly, returning with her documentation, which – after Slick’s cursory examination – surely revealed the buffoonish _fuckery_ that lay as the root cause for this problem that Pansy now faced.

“ _Accidenti!”_ the hotel manager lightly swore, as he, in turn, must have finally realized how his business had fucked up. _“Una momenta,”_ he held up his hands in an attempt at a placating gesture, before scurrying away from the two women.

“Pansy,” Padma spoke, “been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Mm,” Pansy replied, turning her hand over to inspect her nails.

The situation would _almost_ have been amusing if Pansy hadn’t staked so much on this trip, which she now saw falling apart before her eyes. Though she wasn’t aware of any _particular_ animosity which the Patils held towards her, Pansy was still well aware that she’d become something of a persona non grata in Wizarding society, and the odds that Padma would be feeling kind enough to give up “her” room to Pansy were slim to none.

_Still, I suppose she didn’t hex me on sight, which is better than expected._

In some ways, Pansy had known Padma for nearly twenty years: the Patils were close enough to “Pure-blooded” that their parents had attended a number of Pansy’s own parents’ parties when they’d all been children, though of course that particular dynamic had basically stopped once Pansy’s father had decided to go all-in on the whole “Pureblood Supremacy” angle.

They certainly hadn’t been _friendly_ at Hogwarts over the years, though at least Padma wasn’t one of the people who Pansy had carried out a particularly _aggressive_ hostility towards; it would have been absolutely disastrous if someone like Susan Bones (to say nothing of a Hermione Granger type) stood in front of her instead.

“Ah, our apologies,” Slick announced his return, after a few awkward moments of silence had passed, “it appears, well, we only recorded a single reservation under this name.”

 _Fucking fantastic,_ Pansy threw her head back with a dramatic sigh, and it’s ‘ _first come first serve’, I expect._

“As you know, we do not currently have any vacancies,” Slick stammered out, “so, I am afraid I cannot offer either of you a new room as replacement. However, would I be remiss in assuming that Misses Parkinson and Patil, well, know each other?”

“We do,” Pansy shrugged.

“Ah, _bene!_ ” Slick exclaimed, “what we _can_ offer is that, if both you ladies are amenable, we can upgrade the enchantments of this room to those of the suite _premio_ , free of charge, if, well, you would be willing to share the room.”

All things considered, it wasn’t a _bad_ offer; the “premium suite” had been _well_ outside of Pansy’s ability to afford, and the various enchantments the hotel offered should expand the room more than enough to accommodate two guests, but Pansy had already begun to prepare herself for Patil’s offended rejection of this offer.

“Hmm,” Padma murmured, “well, we are _old school friends_ , after all, isn’t that right, Pansy? I’m game if you are.”

“Mm,” Pansy shrugged once again, “that’s fine by me.”

In truth, she was shocked by this turn of events, but she wasn’t going to give Padma the pleasure of seeing her put off-balance like that.

It took a few moments for Slick to sweep through the room, waving his wand in complicated patterns at various points, and the way that the dimensions of the hotel room stretched and expanded was truly, well, _magical_. After he had finished, the room had changed from a _nice_ but “cozy” one into a luxurious single suite, with a whole _assortment_ of different features that Pansy only half-listened to.

After the servile managed completed his spiel (free room service _was_ actually a pretty good compensation), he bowed to the two women, before retreating into the hallway and disappearing. The door swung shut with a heavy sound, and Pansy turned to address her apparent _roommate_ for the next week.

While Pansy had never really been able to tell the Patil twins apart at Hogwarts if it weren’t for the fact that one wore Gryffindor colours and the other Ravenclaw, this was no longer the case: she’d seen Parvati out and about at various social events in the last couple of years, and it was clear that the twin sisters had begun to diverge in appearance as they entered adulthood.

Padma was dressed in Muggle clothing: a loose yellow blouse, white-tan chinos, smart brown penny loafers, and a thick amber necklace draped from her neck. All things considered, it was a fairly _sharp_ outfit, but one that was surprisingly conventional for someone who was (apparently) attending a magical fashion event.

The swirling tattoos which criss-crossed over her forearms, however, were _definitely_ stylish, and a feature that the former Ravenclaw did _not_ share with her sister.

“So,” Pansy spoke, breaking the silence, “what’s your angle, then?”

“Pardon?” the other woman was competent enough to seem _genuinely_ surprised.

“We haven’t been ‘old school friends’ since we were, what, nine years old?” Pansy scoffed, “so what are you playing at with that little claim?”

“I’m well aware that there’s no magical hotels with any vacancies nearby,” Padma looked at Pansy impassively, “and I presume, given that you’d booked a reservation here, that you’d prefer to avoid Muggle hotels. It’s no bother for me, but if you are so opposed to sharing a room for the next few days, you’re welcome to seek out alternative lodging.”

Pansy blinked, the rapid-fire stream of words coming at a rate that she hadn’t heard since whenever Granger’s last public speech was.

“I’m not stupid, Patil,” Pansy growled, “we fought on opposing sides in a fucking war, and I fought on the _wrong_ side, I don’t think that’s something that you can just forget about.”

“I don’t, um,” the other woman tapped one of her fingers against her lips, “I don’t know what it was like for you, so I don’t want to presume, but well… the war’s _over_ , the way that I see it. As best as I can recall, I don’t even have any cause for retribution against you, so you can rest assured that I’m not exactly planning on cursing you when your back is turned.”

Pansy glowered for a moment, trying to piece together an argument.

“Anyways,” Padma shrugged, turning away from her before Pansy could find the words, “I don’t know anyone else in town this week, so it almost seems a bit of serendipity that we’d wind up making the same reservation. If nothing else, I think that it might be interesting to hear your perspective, it’s always nice to expand my own awareness by speaking to someone with a different mindset than I have.”

 _I’m not a fucking case study,_ Pansy thought, but instead of voicing these words, she just scoffed, turning to her suitcase and beginning to unpack her clothing.

 _Fucking… high and mighty Ravenclaw, I’ll make you crack yet, I’ll_ prove _that you still hate me._

* * *

As the rest of the evening passed, Pansy worked her way through a bottle of expensive red wine (which, best of all, was _free_ ), glowering at different schedules, look-books, and her own sketchbook. She had intended to try and take some kind of inspiration from the different designers showing their wares at this event, kicking around a vague idea that she might be able to bring some kind of _fashion_ to Magical Britain, but this concept now seemed frustratingly _stupid_ now that she was actually here.

“So, why’re you here?” Pansy eventually spat, “you don’t strike me as the type who’s particularly interested in fashion.”

“Well, I like to dress nicely,” if Padma was offended by the barb, it didn’t show, “but you’re right, I’m not here for the clothing shows. I’m more interested in the magical art side of things, there’s a couple very intriguing presentations coming up this week.”

“Hmm,” Pansy grumbled, “Giovanno Querini has a gallery display, yeah?”

“Indeed!” Padma looked up from her own notebook (which she’d been incessantly scribbling in for most of the evening) to reply, “though I’m less interested in his paintings, so much as his theory that da Vinci was an unregistered Arithmancer.”

“Huh,” Pansy pursed her lips. That idea _did_ sound interesting, not that she’d admit to it, “didn’t really take you for the sort who would assume that any clever Muggle must have been a secret wizard.”

Once again, Padma _disappointingly_ failed to rise to Pansy’s bait, merely laughing in a high, almost giggling tone, before launching into a distressingly _academic_ sort of response.

“Well, it’s far from a universal phenomenon, and it’s actually quite apparent that the Muggle grasp of mathematics has far surpassed its magical equivalent,” Padma’s words were as quick as ever, “but in the particular case of Leonardo da Vinci, there’s actually some evidence. The _Mona Lisa_ , after all, is known to be enticingly _vague,_ which could be an indication that there’s a subtle degree of illusion charm-adjacent phenomena arising from the arithmantic principles that the portrait was crafted with…”

“Or she’s just got a vague expression,” Pansy scoffed, imitating the famous half-smile of the painting in question, “not everything’s magic, after all.”

“Hmm,” Padma looked at her curiously, and Pansy shied from the attention, turning to pour the last of her wine into a glass, “I’m surprised to hear you defending Muggles so intently.”

“Well,” Pansy turned her back to Padma, “maybe I’ve changed, and grown, and all that shite. If nothing else, it’s right fucking obvious that Wizards are absolute rubbish at music and fashion compared to Muggles, why would painting be any different?”

“Mm,” Padma murmured a response, and then another awkward silence fell over the room.

“I’m turning in,” Padma announced, minutes later, “put out the lights before you go to bed?”

“Fine,” Pansy drawled, “but I get the bed tomorrow night, then.”

“Hmm?”

Another _annoyance_ climbing Pansy’s list was the way that Padma’s noises of curiosity seemed to require Pansy to keep _explaining_ things, when she’d already thought her reasoning was obvious.

“I’ll take the couch tonight, yeah?” Pansy gestured vaguely at the furniture in question, “but I get the bed tomorrow.”

Unexpectedly, Padma just burst into another almost-giggling laugh, and Pansy felt a flush of frustration rise in her neck.

“You can sleep wherever you want,” the irritating witch explained, “but even with the deal we got, I’m not paying to sleep on a bloody couch. The bed’s plenty big enough for both of us, and I promise, I don’t bite.”

“Pity, that,” Pansy drawled, but this too failed to raise any kind of reaction from her roommate, other than another _infuriating_ humming noise.

After another couple of hours passed, Pansy had brushed her teeth, changed into her pyjamas, and was attempting to arrange herself on the couch in some way that was at least _reasonably_ comfortable. Even though she was a short woman, apparently the Italians built their furniture _small_ , and Pansy couldn’t find a way to tuck her limbs in that didn’t feel awkwardly contorted.

 _If I could use my wand,_ she lamented, _it’d be easy to transfigure this into my own bed._

Still, she wasn’t going to risk violating her probation just to _sleep_ , and neither was she going to stoop so low as to beg Padma Patil to perform magic on her behalf.

Finally, Pansy surrendered, grumbling to herself as she wandered over to the bed. It was, indeed, more than large enough for two people, she rationalized as she crawled into the side opposite the sleeping Padma. Pansy pulled a couple of pillows in between herself and the other woman to establish a reasonable-enough boundary, then curled into the soft mattress, feeling sleep quickly overtaking her.

* * *

The second day in Milan had been _fine_ , but Pansy found that her earlier assessment that Wizards couldn’t compare to their Muggle brethren in the arena of fashion was upsettingly accurate. Apparently, the most recent inspiration of Italian Wizarding _haute couture_ was the fucking _Renaissance,_ judging by the preponderance of cloaks and ridiculous, feathered hats. Part of the appeal of this vacation _had_ been to seek inspiration for a passing fancy that Pansy had been kicking around – she was considering designing clothing of her own, maybe even opening a shop somewhere – but so far she was not exactly _inspired_. 

When she’d attended a social event in the evening, Pansy continued to find herself similarly unimpressed: though the Italians had a different approach to “Pureblood” culture than Britain did (the old Pureblood families were seen as figureheads, trotted out at different events to look pretty while the _real_ movers and shakers of their society dealt with each other), the conversations she’d briefly engaged in tended to revolve around questions of “Who’s your family? Oh, what do they trade in? Very interesting, what sort of magic do you specialize in?” which were _infuriatingly_ familiar to her.

Pansy hadn’t even been _lying_ when she had claimed that she’d changed, the day before: while she still resented the fact that she’d been punished more harshly than actual fucking _Death Eaters_ (she still had no idea how Draco had managed to slip out of any retribution), the probation that she’d been placed under had actually done a _lot_ to open her eyes as to how bloody _stupid_ her old views were.

Her father had always been a particularly mercenary sort, more concerned with counting his galleons than any real political or ideological goals, but Lord Penrose Parkinson had decided early in Pansy’s life that his family would throw their allegiance in with the most extreme “traditionalist” faction of Magical Britain, to the extent that Pansy herself might as well have been a fucking Death Eater with how tightly she had adhered to their cause.

All that it had earned her was an extremely public comeuppance after her faction lost the Second Wizarding War, and yet Lord fucking Penrose slipped out of any consequences, throwing his own daughter under the bus when all that she’d done at Hogwarts had been guided by his oh-so-helpful "suggestions".

While the Italian wizards may have been less concerned with blood-status than the circles that she’d grown up in, the topics of finances and magical ability were all-too-familiar to her, and she had less than zero interest in engaging some pompous git in that artificial dance.

Instead, Pansy found it _much_ more enjoyable to sit in the shared hotel room, knocking back another bottle of wine by herself, taking the opportunity to stretch out and unwind while Padma was out doing Merlin-knows-what. Her “roommate” returned late in the evening, in fact, when Pansy was making a dent in a _second_ bottle, luxuriously sprawled over her side of the bed in her underwear.

Pansy caught the other woman staring in her direction, and with her typical approach to these sorts of situations, met Padma’s apparent _curiosity_ with a snarling challenge.

“What?” Pansy snapped.

“Hmm,” Padma made that infuriating noise again, “looks like you’ve had a busy night.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Pansy took a deep drink from her wine glass, “the ‘who’s-who’ of Italy were all in attendance tonight, and they’re just as fucking boring as the ones back home.”

“Well, I hardly expect that’s accurate,” Padma slung her bag onto the desk at the side of the room, before strolling over to the dresser that she’d claimed, “after all, the ‘who’s-who’ back home is more people like, you know, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, or Harry Potter.”

“Harry fuckin’ Potter,” Pansy jeered, “fuck, you’re right, he might actually be better fucking company than half the lot I saw tonight.”

In truth, this was one of Pansy’s most hidden secrets: there weren’t actually that many people whose company she enjoyed more than the aforementioned Harry “fucking” Potter. Though she’d be caught dead before she’d ever consider calling him a “friend” of hers, the man could at the very least keep up with her own drinking habits, and he always had a snappy little response whenever she taunted him about something or other.

Pansy suspected that she was simply glad to see that _somebody_ else was miserable after the war ended; far too many of her peers had somehow just cast off all the struggles and (literal) bloodshed between them, such as how Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley were _best of friends_ now, an absolutely absurd scenario.

When she’d gotten drunk enough to attempt to apologize to Potter for the whole “right, I tried to have you killed and all, my bad” thing one night, Pansy had to admit that she’d actually gained a _sliver_ of respect for the fucking golden boy when he’d simply replied by saying _“sure, yeah, it’s all good. I really don’t give a fuck.”_

“Hmm, is that so?” Padma seemed curious, even as she laid her own pyjamas out over the back of a chair rather than making eye contact with Pansy.

“He’s got good taste in firewhisky, if nothing else,” Pansy shrugged, “and he’s always oh-so-fucking-generous in sharing it.”

“Heh, that sounds like Harry,” Padma replied, before pulling her shirt off.

Pansy wouldn’t admit to _staring_ , but she still became aware of a tight feeling in her throat as her eyes instinctively ran over the skin Padma had just bared, surprisingly unembarrassed to change clothes in front of her temporary roommate.

 _Hmm, not bad, Patil,_ Pansy thought appreciatively, tracing the curve of Padma’s hips with her gaze, _fuck, maybe I’ll try and get laid tomorrow, I’m clearly too fucking pent up._

“What, you had a better night than I did, then?” Pansy taunted, reasserting her control over the conversation.

“Oh, it was quite interesting!” Padma kicked her pants off, fastidiously folding them before putting them in her dresser, and Pansy _definitely_ didn’t check out her arse while she did so, “I’m afraid that your measure of Mister Querini was rather accurate; his evidence in favour of the whole ‘da Vinci was secretly a wizard’ theory seemed to be founded largely in the presupposition that no _Muggle_ could accomplish works of art and engineering so advanced for his time. However, it wasn't all a loss, I found an expert in magical architecture, and the topic of Arithmancy used to design ancient Roman buildings is one that seems to bear a lot more promise.”

“Right,” Pansy didn’t bother trying to process whatever that meant, “because you didn’t study _enough_ at Hogwarts, hey?”

Once again, Padma just laughed in response instead of taking offense.

“Well, when we were at school, I focused primarily on my studies above all else, that much is true,” Padma pulled a nightgown over herself, and Pansy had to flick her eyes away from the woman’s legs back to eye-level as she turned around, “so I know it might be surprising, considering how I didn’t really socialize too much back then, but I’m currently seeking to expand my experiences in general. My study of different schools of magical practice is the predominant avenue I’m pursuing, yes, but I’m also quite interested in other _people_ , if you must know.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Pansy grumbled, “I’m gonna have a smoke, then I’m going to sleep.”

“Okay!” Padma replied _far_ too cheerfully, “I’m also going to go to bed, so I’ll be here when you get back in.”

“Fantastic,” Pansy drawled, pushing some of her more _impulsive_ ideas out of her mind.

* * *

The third night had begun more promisingly than the second, and at one point, Pansy found herself in conversation with a scion of a minor Noble House (or the Italian equivalent), a conversation which she fully intended to take to his bedroom (since hers was so inconveniently occupied).

“Ah, it is not so much,” the man – _Giovanni, or something like that_ – explained, though Pansy was much more interested in his large hands and the rugged-yet-sophisticated shadow of stubble on his jawline than she was in his _hobbies_ , “I simply enjoy to feel the wind in my hair, yes? To drive a convertible, it is almost so good as to fly the broomstick, but it is _faster_.”

Pansy giggled in response, reaching up to toy with a lock of her hair, knowing that the pose pushed her elbows together and decidedly emphasized her cleavage. This Giovanni bloke didn’t seem to exactly be the brightest that Italy had to offer, but he was _pretty_ , and Pansy figured that this would be enough to fulfill her needs for the night.

“Do you drive, my Lady?” he inquired, and Pansy found that his voice was smooth and deep enough to look past the stilted way he spoke English.

“Oh, not so much,” she replied, keeping her voice girlish and ‘sweet’ in accordance with her act, “the weather back home isn’t half as nice as in Italy, anyways, half the time you’d have to put the roof up or else you’d drown in the rain!”

“You are right,” Giovanni replied, chuckling in an overtly pretentious way, “the English weather, it is _miserable_. Still, it would seem that some of its _exports_ , well, they are quite stunning, no?”

Pansy giggled once more, reaching out to playfully bat at Giovanni’s arm, not disguising the fact that she ran her fingers over his bicep in doing so.

“You will have to forgive me,” he continued, “but I did not catch your family name, my Lady Pansy…?”

“Parkinson,” she replied, without thinking.

“Oh!” Giovanni’s smile grew wider, but a _glint_ of something entered his eyes, “quite a prestigious family, my Lady! Did you know, in fact, that my father – the Lord di Aroni – actually does trade with your own Lord father?” 

In an instant, Pansy’s ability to tolerate Giovanni’s pretentious bragging vanished, the reminder of her _role_ as a Pureblood woman serving to extinguish the flames of desire that she’d been focusing on instead.

“I do not wish to speak of my father,” she warned.

“Oh, but why not?” Giovanni continued, obliviously, “he is quite the merchant, no? A man with tastes so fine _would_ produce a daughter so beautiful, this much is clear."

Pansy snorted, rolling her eyes, before she stormed away from the party, leaving the Italian noble where he stood, still stammering in confusion at her sudden departure.

 _Fuckin’ all the same, no matter where I go,_ she thought to herself as she made her way back to her hotel room, _bloody Pureblood idiots are all cut from the same mediocre cloth._

Back in the room – which, Pansy was somehow frustrated to note, was unoccupied – she placed an order for a bottle of _expensive_ firewhisky into the magical dumbwaiter built into one of the walls, and when it arrived shortly afterwards, tore the cork out with her teeth, and took a deep swig before even reaching for a glass.

She settled into a routine of periodic sips of firewhisky interjected with chain-smoking ( _thank fucking Morgana the room upgrade came with a magic balcony)_ for a while until, at some point, she heard the rattle of a key in the door, and Padma returned to their shared room for the evening.

Pansy had to admit that Padma looked _good_ , wearing a sleek, form-fitting black dress, her legs accented by the straps of the gladiator-style heels she wore. The other woman must have caught her staring, because Padma spoke uncertainly as she entered the room.

“Uh, hi?”

“You know,” Pansy drawled, “for someone who isn’t interested in the actual fashion side of this week, you’re dressed better than half of the people in attendance.”

“That so?” Padma raised an eyebrow curiously, her gaze flicking to the bottle of firewhisky beside Pansy, “I take it, um, you didn’t have the best evening?”

“Not so much, no,” Pansy grinned, showing her teeth, “it seems that the whole ‘idle rich idiot’ concept transcends culture, as far as I can tell.”

Padma crossed the room, and then, surprising Pansy, lifted the bottle of firewhisky to her lips, taking a swig of her own.

“Well,” she announced, and Pansy was impressed that she didn’t seem to cough or flinch from the liquor, “it seems I’ve got some catching up to do, in that case.”

As a further surprise to Pansy, the rest of the evening passed _much_ more enjoyably than the party she’d briefly attended; though nobody would ever be so bold as to claim that Padma _didn’t_ tend towards academic or otherwise intellectual topics of conversation, it turned out that she was much more interesting to talk to than a pretty idiot with a Ferrari had been.

It was also _interesting_ that, apparently, Padma also smoked (though much less frequently than Pansy); this additional unexpected development led to a dynamic where the conversation between the pair of women flowed easily and uninterrupted, Padma apparently curious and _interested_ in Pansy’s take on the various failures of Pureblood men.

“I swear to fucking Morgana,” Pansy huffed, during one of these moments on the balcony, “I’m going to stick to shagging women after this. Witches never try to use their _father_ as a pick-up line, at least.”

“Hmm,” at some point, the frequent thoughtful noises Padma made stopped being irritating, “you know, I respect that you’re brave enough to know what you want. I’ve definitely been curious, but I’ve never so much as kissed another woman, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

As Pansy stubbed her cigarette out, she was seized by a sudden impulse.

She leaned into Padma, pressing a quick peck to her lips, before turning to go back inside.

“There,” Pansy drawled, “now you’ve kissed a girl. Go out and take some woman home some time, it’s a lot of fun.”

 _Shite,_ she thought, as she walked back into the hotel room, _that was stupid of me._

“I’m not sure about that,” Padma’s voice came from behind her.

“Hmm?”

“I hardly think that counts as a _kiss_ ,” Padma’s voice, usually high-pitched and almost annoyingly _perky_ , had dropped lower.

_Oh, fuck it._

Pansy pressed into Padma once more, but this time, went much further than a mere peck; her tongue pushed into Padma’s mouth, dancing against the other woman’s, as Pansy enjoyed the subtle taste of Padma’s clove cigarette. She circled one of her arms behind Padma’s back, pulling them closer together, incredibly aware (in the _best_ way) of how Padma’s curves melded into Pansy’s own.

When they separated, Padma seemed short of breath, giving Pansy cause to smirk.

“You know…” Padma trailed off in thought, before seeming to come to a decision, “you kind of _have_ taken me home. I mean, if you’re interested. It doesn’t have to-“

Perhaps the firewhisky they’d shared played a role, maybe it was Pansy’s earlier frustrations coming back to bear, but whatever led her to this moment, Pansy didn’t hesitate for a second. She interrupted Padma by taking her lips in her own once again, the pair of women automatically half-stumbling towards their shared hotel bed.

“Fuck,” Pansy muttered, kicking her heels aside and pausing momentarily to undo Padma’s and similarly throw them away, “you’re gorgeous.”

Padma’s reply was swallowed by Pansy’s lips, and Pansy quickly came to appreciate that Padma was _quite_ a talented kisser, once she’d realized what was going on. Their tongues danced together aggressively, as Pansy shamelessly ran her hands up Padma’s body, squeezing one of her breasts firmly over her dress.

The other woman was a bit taller than Pansy (not unusual for her), but Pansy was quickly coming to realize that they shared a fairly similar body type; though Padma’s hips were a bit wider than Pansy’s, and Pansy’s bust a bit larger, both women fit the general “curvy” archetype, and Pansy was _eager_ to reap the benefits which her own previous lovers must have enjoyed.

Pansy trailed her fingers up one of Padma’s legs and under her dress, pausing for a moment to look at the woman underneath her. _Snogging’s one thing,_ she thought, _this… might be a bit much._

“Please,” Padma practically _whined_ , “do it. Fuck me.”

This was all that Pansy needed to hear.

She expertly delved her fingers up between Padma’s legs, where her digits met a strip of lacy fabric, and even through Padma’s panties Pansy could _feel_ the heat from the other woman’s sex. When Pansy slipped her fingers past this barrier, she immediately found Padma to be slick, _hot_ under her touch.

Pansy couldn’t help but groan herself as she slowly pushed two of her fingers inside of Padma, luxuriating in the way that she tensed and whimpered underneath her. Moving her lips from Padma’s own, Pansy began to kiss and suckle at the side of the other woman’s neck, slowly pumping her fingers in and out of her.

“I want-“ Padma’s voice hitched as Pansy curled her fingers inside her, deftly stroking at the sensitive spot at the front of her pussy, “I want to touch you, too.”

Pansy smirked as a reply, pushing Padma further into the bed, straddling over top of her with their legs opened to each other. Padma’s dress was already rucked up around her curvy hips, so Pansy took the opportunity to practically _tear_ the woman’s lace panties off, while Pansy, meanwhile, had already divested herself of this garment shortly after she’d arrived back at the hotel.

It was Pansy’s turn to hitch a breath as Padma’s fingers ran over her cunt, inexpertly, but delicately enough that the sensation felt _fantastic_. Pansy began to apply herself in earnest, hooking two fingers back inside of Padma’s wet pussy, kissing her _eagerly_ as they slowly fell into a rhythm of finger-fucking each other.

As she had expected, Padma was the first to climax, loosing an _erotic_ moan into Pansy’s mouth as Pansy felt her tighten and spasm around her digits. What was _less_ expected was that – for someone who’d apparently never done this before – Padma’s own efforts became much more effective after Pansy had withdrawn her fingers from Padma’s sex, plunging two of her digits into Pansy’s pussy while flicking at her clit with her thumb.

“Fuck, yeah,” Pansy groaned, “just like that.”

“Yeah?” Padma’s voice carried a hint of teasing to it, which sent another shock of arousal down Pansy’s spine, “you like that?”

“Mhmm,” Pansy pushed her tongue into Padma’s mouth once more, but found that this time, Padma made an honest effort to take control of their kissing, her own tongue active and _forceful_ in the sloppy make-out.

When Padma bit Pansy’s lip, it was the final spark needed to ignite an _explosion_ through her body, Pansy’s body tensing and practically _writhing_ as she came.

_I guess you do bite, after all._

“Fuck,” Pansy murmured, slumping to her side, “that was fun.”

“It _was_ ,” Padma agreed, her voice growing sleepy, “I’m falling asleep already, wow.”

“Me too,” Pansy could barely keep her eyes open, between the pleasant buzz of firewhisky and the hazy afterglow of sex.

Before she even realized it, they’d fallen asleep still half-entangled with one another.

* * *

_Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Pansy thought in a panic, _shite, fuck. I fucked up._

The events of the previous night had crashed through her thoughts as soon as she woke up, sunlight streaming through the windows at an angle which indicated it was _far_ too early to be awake.

While Pansy knew that _she_ hadn’t been drunk, she realized with a significant degree of trepidation that she really didn’t know how drunk _Padma_ had been the night before. It wasn’t exactly unusual for someone to become more adventurous than they’d normally be once they’d had a few drinks, and Pansy realized, far too late, that hooking up with Padma might well have been a _mistake_.

Her heartbeat thrumming in her ears, Pansy extricated herself from the bed, and rushed to have a quick shower. Once she was washed, she dressed in a hurry, glancing at the bed only long enough to ascertain that Padma was, in fact, still asleep, before she fled the hotel room.

 _Okay, it can’t be that bad, right?_ Pansy walked through the events of the night before, _she kind of started it, so even if it turns out that it’s not something she’d do sober, it’s not like I pushed her into anything…_

Pansy was well aware of the stigma around “experimenting” in this manner, and had a variety of different concerns running through her head; would Padma think that it meant something more than it did? Would she be mad at Pansy if it turned out that this “experiment” wasn’t a successful one? Would Padma be hurt when Pansy let her down?

_Fuck._

This was somewhat new ground for Pansy as well; her one-night-stands didn’t typically involve people who she _knew_ , let alone ones who she was going to be _staying with_ for the next few days. She realized that she hadn’t considered the various ways that the dynamic could have become very awkward, and instead had just gone forward with her first impulse, in such a _Pansy_ way to do so.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

She spent much of the fourth day in a vaguely-panicked haze, trying to run through every possible scenario and its fallout in her head before she’d be forced to inevitably return back to the hotel room. Steeling herself on her eventual arrival, Pansy peeked in through the door, where she spotted her clothes still half-strewn about the room, but Padma’s own were still visible, neatly folded in the dresser.

Pansy sighed as she crept inside. _Well, she didn’t take off,_ she thought, _so at least she doesn’t feel taken advantage of, I think?_

“Oh, you’re back!” a now-familiar voice spoke in surprise, as Pansy’s nerves frayed themselves raw.

“I, uh, yeah,” Pansy muttered, “sorry. I kind of ran off, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Padma strolled out of the bathroom, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts rather than anything more formal, “that’s okay, though, I had a later start today than you did, anyways.”

_Well, at least she doesn’t seem mad?_

“I, well...” Pansy stammered, growing frustrated with herself for being awkward. _This is why I usually fuck terrible people, they're so much easier to chuck,_ she mused, before continuing, “yeah. Sorry?”

“Hmm,” Padma hummed, cocking her hip to the side, one of her fingers coming to rest on her lips, “you okay? You seem a bit out of sorts, not that I mean to imply anything, or, um...”

“Fuck,” Pansy cursed, “yeah, I’m a bit fucked up. Sorry if I, well, pressured you into anything.”

Padma just giggled her high-pitched laugh, shocking Pansy out of her spiraling worries.

“Is this a usual thing after sex for you?” Padma’s tone was light, unconcerned, “well, at least on my part, I’m certainly not upset that we slept together.”

“You’re… not?” Pansy let loose a sigh that she hadn’t realized that she’d been holding, “it’s just, fuck, you mentioned you hadn’t done it before, and I wasn’t sure if I did too much, and-“

“Pansy,” Padma spoke, and Pansy realized that this might have been the first time she’d used her name, “ _someone_ had to be the first woman I slept with, and for what it’s worth, I’m glad it was you.”

“Really?” Pansy was genuinely surprised, _“Why? I’m_ kind of a bitch, you didn’t picture someone, well, _nicer_?”

“You’re _fine_ ,” Padma shrugged nonchalantly, “it was fun! I had a good time! Trust me, I’m glad that you knew what you were doing, I don’t think that I would have enjoyed the encounter so much if it were with someone as similarly inexperienced as myself.”

Surprising _herself_ , Pansy felt a laugh of her own escape her lips, one that grew into a genuine _outburst_ of mirth.

“Fuck, you’re doing better than I am at the whole ‘morning after’ part, at least,” Pansy chuckled, “Merlin, now I’ve got to apologize for being so fucking _awkward_ about it.”

“I _did_ say that I’m looking to expand my horizons with new experiences,” Padma sat back on the bed, idly kicking her legs, “sex is just one of a variety of those experiences that I can have. Although…”

“Although?”

“If you’re looking to make it up to me, or if you’re concerned that I might not interested while I’m sober,” Padma began to slide her shorts down, and Pansy swore that her mouth actually watered, “I do think that a _practical_ demonstration would be beneficial…”

Padma tossed her shorts and panties aside, leaning back to spread her bare legs open, revealing her pink sex, and Pansy’s mouth _did_ water.

“Fuck,” Pansy muttered as she quickly crossed the room, dropping to her knees in front of the bed, “yeah. Okay. Fuck yeah.”

“I’ve definitely received it before,” Padma giggled, “but I’ve never _eaten pussy_ myself, obviously, and I rather think that’s an _experience_ I’d enjoy, if you can show me how…”

“Mmm,” Pansy trailed her fingers up Padma’s legs, and the woman spread her legs even wider, “okay, yeah. So, everyone likes something a bit different, but generally, don’t start too fast. Work up to it a bit,” she gripped Padma’s thighs, enjoying the soft-yet-firm feeling under her fingers, “it’s kind of like foreplay that turns _into_ sex, so don’t dive right in…” Pansy began to pepper kisses up the inside of Padma’s thighs, pausing when her mouth hovered over Padma’s pussy.

She locked her gaze with the woman above her, who was already starting to breathe heavily, her chest rising and falling _very_ appealingly.

Pansy made a show of slowly extending her tongue, tracing _agonizingly_ slowly over Padma’s lower lips, just barely avoiding brushing against her clit.

“Most women like a mix of fingers and tongue,” Pansy continued to explain, demonstrating this by gently stroking Padma’s slit, the touch as light as she could manage, “I like a lot of both, but you’ll probably find that some women want more of one or the other.”

For emphasis, she flickered her tongue over the hood of Padma’s clit, drawing a gasp from her.

“There’s different techniques, too,” Pansy continued, “sometimes you’ll want to do something more in-and-out,” she began to do just that, slowly pushing two of her fingers inside Padma, withdrawing them just as slowly, “sometimes you’ll want to pay more attention to the g-spot,” she hooked her fingers, “and sometimes… a woman might just want to be _filled_.”

She inserted a third finger, and Padma let loose a shaky groan as she did so, making Pansy smirk. This whole scenario wasn’t _quite_ role-play, but she was finding that she really, _really_ enjoyed it.

“Take your shirt off,” Pansy ordered, and Padma writhed around as she did so, with Pansy’s fingers stationary inside of her.

“Don’t forget about your other hand, either,” Pansy instructed, guiding Padma to lay on her back, as she grabbed and squeezed at Padma’s breasts. Pansy was _delighted_ to discover that Padma’s left nipple was pierced with a small ring, and they _both_ moaned when Pansy plucked at it.

“Once you’ve got her all warmed up for you,” Pansy could hear how husky her own voice was, “then you can _really_ go to work.”

She leaned forward to press her tongue flat against Padma’s clit, as she slowly wedged her fingers deeper inside, and the result was immediate, drawing a whispered “ _fuck…_ ” from Padma as her legs twitched around Pansy’s head.

Smirking, Pansy began to lazily draw patterns with her tongue as she pushed her fingers slowly in and out of Padma’s sex, gripping her breast firmly with her other hand. As Padma’s muscles began to spasm every so often, Pansy trailed her hand down Padma’s torso, coming to rest just above her pussy, idly teasing the short, dark curls she found there.

“And _some_ women,” Pansy teased, “like to be _sucked_.”

Pansy split her fingers and pressed her hand down and back above Padma’s pussy, spreading her lips apart and causing her clit to stand out from the rest of her sensitive flesh, immediately leaning forward to take it between her lips, applying the lightest, most delicate suction that she could.

Padma, apparently, very _much_ fell into this category that Pansy mentioned, as she _shrieked,_ her legs clamping around Pansy’s head as Padma rode out a fast, intense orgasm.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Padma actually _slurred_ as she recovered, “that was… fucking great. Very instructive.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Pansy smirked, standing up to unzip her dress, peeling her own underwear off, “now, it’s time to put the theory into practice…”

They switched positions, so that Pansy now sat with her legs splayed out over the end of the bed, with Padma kneeling between them. Padma’s first motions were a bit tentative (which Pansy sort of expected), her first lick against Pansy’s cunt a bit hesitant, but if nothing else, she was a _fast_ learner.

“Fuck,” Pansy groaned her approval, reaching down to tangle her fingers in Padma’s hair, “yeah, that’s fucking great.”

“I’m glad you could _teach_ me,” Padma looked up at her, then pushed not two, not three, but _four_ of her fingers inside Pansy without warning, “you deserve a _reward_ , don’t you?”

 _Fuck, she’s way different during sex,_ Pansy could barely form coherent thoughts, as Padma’s tongue began to _lavish_ against her clit, _but I think I like it._

“I want to make you cum,” Padma continued, “are you going to cum for me? Are you going to cum while I lick your _cunt_?”

Pansy had already been turned on by _giving_ Padma oral, which had given her a head-start while _receiving_ it, and Padma’s surprising talent for dirty-talk during sex was more than enough – in combination with her _other_ set of oral talents – to push Pansy quickly and _intensely_ to her own orgasm. 

“Fuck, you’re brilliant,” Pansy voiced her approval as Padma crawled up on the bed beside her, “ _this_ is why shagging women is better, I swear.”

“I’m sure there’s men out there that enjoy performing cunnilingus,” Padma shrugged, a devious look in her eye.

“Well, I haven’t found any yet,” Pansy huffed, “so who knows.”

* * *

Pansy had found herself distinctly _preoccupied_ the entire next day, and though she’d never admit to it, actually rushed back to the hotel after the various showings and demos had finished. She quickly glanced at a clock, estimating that Padma was going to arrive back in about fifteen minutes, and put her current ploy into motion.

She undressed and ran the shower, setting it to a luxuriantly warm temperature, but pointedly leaving the bathroom door open. Though the day before had done a _lot_ to reassure Pansy that she hadn’t actually _pressured_ Padma into anything, she was waiting to see if the other woman would take the initiative when things _weren’t_ a bit weird and uncertain because of her awkward attempt at an _apology_.

Pansy heard the front door open, and lazily continued soaping herself in the shower as she _eagerly_ awaited to see if Padma would accept the “invitation” she’d left. Sure enough, moments later, the other woman slid the shower door open, smirking at Pansy (who was _shamelessly_ checking her out) while making her entrance.

“Not the most subtle, are you?” Padma teased, pressing herself into Pansy’s back.

“Fuck subtlety,” Pansy admitted, “I figure if I want something, I might as well go for it, right?”

“I can agree with that, actually,” Padma agreed, running her hands up Pansy’s front, pausing to grope her breasts, “hmm. Out of curiosity, what do you tend to look for, when you’re trying to meet another woman?”

“How so?”

“Well, for example, you’ve got _excellent_ breasts,” Padma squeezed for emphasis, “but I think that I’m more attracted to your general demeanour, if that makes sense. I seem to enjoy when a woman is a bit authoritative, moreso than when a man acts in the same manner.”

“Hmm, that’s not uncommon,” Pansy pressed her arse back against Padma, enjoying the feel of skin-on-skin even if the gesture didn’t accomplish as much as it would have with a man, “I’m a bit of a switch with boys, but I generally prefer to be in control when I’m with a girl.”

“A switch?”

“Oh, yeah,” Pansy realized that she’d lapsed into Muggle terminology that probably hadn’t entered Padma’s sphere yet, “I can be submissive _or_ dominant, it really depends on the situation.”

“Hmm, I don’t think I’m particularly submissive,” Padma mused, as she pulled free of Pansy to begin soaping herself up, “I like to talk during sex, which I’m sure you’ve noticed, and I think part of that is that I like telling my partner what to do.”

“Yeah,” Pansy agreed, “I _have_ noticed. It’s pretty fucking hot.”

Padma flushed in a way that couldn’t be explained by the heat of the shower, her brown skin getting a shade darker around her neck and chest.

“Do you ever go for the rougher stuff?” Pansy wondered.

“Not so much, really,” Padma started to rinse herself off, “I think I like the _dynamic_ more than any literal sort of struggle. You?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Pansy enthusiastically explained her preference, “maybe it’s partly due to the fact that, well, I often shag people that I kind of hate a little bit, but yeah, I absolutely like to smack someone around. Or get smacked around, sometimes.”

“What’s the difference,” Padma inquired, as they shut the water off, “between men and women? In the sense of your preferences.”

“Not sure,” Pansy admitted, “but, to answer your earlier question, if I’m checking a woman out, I’ll _always_ notice a nice arse.”

She punctuated this statement with a light swat against Padma’s arse, just enough to make it jiggle, which was apparently _well_ within Padma’s tolerance.

“I don’t mind a bit of spanking,” Padma admitted, “but, again, I’ve never tried that with another woman…”

“C’mere,” Pansy ordered, grabbing a towel and beginning to dry Padma. Once again, she was glad that they’d managed to wind up in the premium suite, as these enchanted towels were absolutely _divine_ , “I’ll show you something that doesn’t really happen with a bloke.”

She pulled Padma back to the bed, guiding her to lay on her back, as Pansy arranged herself overtop the other woman, intertwining their legs together.

“With men,” Pansy explained, as she leaned forward to press their torsos together, the lingering moisture from their shower just enough to make her and Padma slick against each other, “this is _maybe_ a bit of foreplay, and usually only if the clothes are staying on. With women… well, grinding can be sex all on its own.”

To demonstrate, Pansy pressed her thigh upwards between Padma’s legs, sliding it against Padma’s sex. Judging by how Padma reached up to grab Pansy’s breasts, she was _more_ than in favour of trying this particular form of sex.

Though not _all_ of the sex that Pansy had previously experienced was of the “hard and fast, down and dirty” variety, she could admit that it was rare for her to find herself in a situation quite this _intimate_. Kissing each other deeply, her and Padma writhed on the bed, their legs wrapped between each other’s, a position which brought them about as close as was physically possible.

 _Fuck, this isn’t so bad, I guess,_ Pansy thought to herself, as she continued to grind against Padma’s thigh, making sure to keep pressing her own leg against Padma’s cunt as she did so. _Maybe I could get used to this._

Of course, Padma and her had already established that this whole arrangement wasn’t actually _going_ anywhere: neither woman was interested in pursuing an actual, official relationship at this point, let alone one that would involve potentially _intercontinental_ distances. They’d mutually agreed that this time together was just a fun experience for both women, and that was it.

Still, even though Pansy didn’t exactly feel any _romantic_ inclinations towards the woman underneath her, she was beginning to feel a vague sort of longing for this _type_ of intimacy.

Putting those uncertain ideas aside, Pansy repositioned herself so that she sat sideways atop Padma, gripping onto Padma’s leg for leverage. This angle allowed their pussies to press directly against each other, and Pansy wasted no time in sawing her hips back and forth, dragging her wet sex against Padma’s.

“Fuck,” Padma groaned, “that's… fucking great.”

“Honestly, it’s not the most…” Pansy’s voice hitched, “the most physically stimulating, but, fuck, it’s _fun_.”

After a few more moments of scissor-fucking Padma, Pansy lost her patience, seeking out the more directly stimulating activities that she’d alluded to. She repositioned once again, spinning so that her and Padma were pressed together, breast-to-breast, each woman reaching between the others’ legs, quickly providing each other the attention they both desperately needed.

“You’re so hot when you cum,” Padma panted, “are you going to show me?”

“So,” Pansy retorted, sliding her fingers in a ‘v’ on either side of Padma’s clit and _pressing_ , “are _you_.”

This counter-point was what Padma needed to climax, and Pansy was _thrilled_ that she wasn’t far behind herself. Although she reminded herself once again that this whole _thing_ was just a temporary diversion, Pansy did realize that she had a natural _chemistry_ with Padma, and idly wondered if she might be able to find a similar kind of dynamic in the future.

* * *

The last night together was something that _could_ have carried a tinge of bittersweetness, but Pansy Parkinson was not, as a rule, someone who fucked around with _feelings_.

She knew well enough to take this situation for what it was: a temporary diversion, a fun time, and a chance to _maybe_ be a bit less jagged around the edges than she usually was, but she also knew that she’d go right back to her old habits when she returned to Britain, as much as she’d actually wound up enjoying Italy.

“So, I’ve been wondering,” Padma admitted, laying naked beside Pansy, “how do you decide when things are, um, _finished_ , when you’re with a woman? I’m aware that it’s not universal, but the capability for multiple orgasms seems as if it would be a lot more common than it would be when having sex with a man.”

“That’s one of the perks,” Pansy teased, “you can pretty much go until someone gets too tired, or too sensitive.”

“Mmm.”

“Why?” Pansy rolled over to her front, “do you want to keep going?”

“If you do…” Padma smirked.

Pansy returned the smirk, propping herself on to her hands and knees and prowling towards Padma.

“Wait,” the brunette requested, “turn around, I want you on top of me this time.”

“Ooh,” Pansy did just that, “aren’t you bossy?”

She’d already demonstrated the benefits of a sixty-nine to Padma earlier in the evening, but that had been in a side-by-side position; not that Pansy was exactly going to _argue_ if a gorgeous woman asked her to sit on their face.

Pansy sucked in a breath as she swung her leg over Padma’s head, and the other woman began to _eagerly_ lap at her cunt practically as soon as Pansy lowered her sex within reach of Padma’s mouth. She smirked to herself, wiggling her hips from side to side, before leaning forwards, shoving her _own_ face between Padma’s legs.

She groaned when Padma reached up to grip her arse firmly, pulling Pansy’s groin even tighter against her mouth. The shift in position caused her to pitch forward slightly, and Pansy became conscious of Padma sucking in a breath, her grip on Pansy’s arse cheeks tightening all of a sudden.

“Ooh!” Pansy cried in surprise as Padma’s tongue ran _between_ her cheeks, running over her arsehole.

“Yes?” Padma inquired, her voice slightly muffled between Pansy’s thighs.

“ _Very_ yes,” Pansy confirmed, “get back in there,” she ordered, reaching behind herself to pull Padma’s face back into position.

Of all Padma’s unexpected talents, this was certainly one that Pansy wished that she’d discovered sooner; the woman was _very_ vigorous in all matters involving her tongue, but the sensation of Padma _enthusiastically_ rimming her arse was perhaps the most pleasurable that Pansy had experienced with her yet.

“Fuck, you love eating arse, do you?” Pansy taunted, prompting a moan from the woman who was busy doing just that.

“I’m a big fan of anal stimulation,” Padma gasped, and Pansy actually felt an _absence_ when she stopped, “I’ve never tried _giving_ it before, though.”

“Well you’re doing fucking great,” Pansy confirmed, “keep going.”

She gasped when Padma returned to her taboo activity without the slightest hesitation, her tongue moving in wide, sweeping circles over Pansy’s tight hole. Leaning forward to provide her a better angle, Pansy noticed that this now placed her _own_ face deeper between Padma’s legs, and she came to an impulsive decision, using her elbows to prop Padma’s legs back.

This was actually an activity that _Pansy_ hadn’t done before; sure, she’d _received_ this kind of attention now and then, but she’d never _given_ it either. _Fair’s fair,_ she figured, extending her tongue to circle around Padma’s arsehole in turn.

Their pace became frenetic in short order, both of the women _very much_ fans of this impromptu variation of a sixty-nine, and Pansy quickly discovered that she was just as into this particular kink as Padma was. Soon after they’d arranged themselves in this way, each of the women had placed a tight, desperate grip on the others’ arse, both attempting to pull each other into their face at the same time.

Pansy quickly became aware of Padma’s slick pussy sliding against her chin, the unconventional, _pornographic_ position sending shocks up her spine, to say nothing of Padma’s _talented_ tongue running sloppily over her arse. Pansy wedged one of her arms between her chest and Padma’s hips, reaching down to toy with Padma's clit, making sure to press her tongue _into_ her most lewd entrance as she did so.

The other witch _screamed_ underneath her, her entire lower body _spasming_ as she came, the force of the motion enough to push Pansy back up to her hands and knees, shamelessly pressing her hips back against Padma’s face to demand the same level of attention. While Padma took a moment to recover, in short order she made sure to repay the favour, her own hand snaking around Pansy’s hips, hooking two of her fingers inside Pansy’s cunt while Pansy sat on her face.

“Fuck!” Pansy cried, her entire body going stiff, her vision filling with stars around the edges as she came _hard_.

It took them a few minutes to remember how to speak as they rolled away from each other to lie side by side, and Pansy could still feel aftershocks of her latest orgasm quivering through her abdomen.

“Fuck,” she reiterated, “I wish I’d known that sooner. If we had more time, and I had a strap-on, I should’ve _fucked_ your arse.”

“Who knows,” Padma smirked, her eyes hooded, her voice drowsy, “maybe next time.”

“Maybe next time,” Pansy agreed.

* * *

Padma’s departure had come and gone with little fanfare in the morning, after a brief conversation where they made noncommittal plans to meet up again if they ever wound up in the same city, and the women exchanged a final, quick kiss.

As Pansy finished packing her own clothes, she mused on the week she’d spent with Padma, already certain that the experience was one that she’d be recalling _frequently._ Not that this was any indication of _longing_ or _reminiscence_ or anything so emotional and soft as that, of course; Padma had merely been an _excellent_ lay. _Merlin knows I needed one,_ Pansy thought.

 _That nipple piercing was pretty hot, maybe I'll get mine done..._ she distracted herself from any deeper introspection for a moment as she pictured this idea.

 _Still, though,_ Pansy's mind returned, briefly, to thoughts of a less overtly-sexual nature. 

The experience of fucking someone that she _didn’t “_ kind of hate” seemed to have its merits. Pansy idly wondered if she could replicate a similar kind of dynamic with someone who might prove to be a more frequent guest in her bed. Though she was still certain that she didn’t exactly plan to settle down in a relationship or anything like that, Pansy _was_ somewhat convinced that the idea of finding a reliable friend with benefits might be a worthy pursuit.

 _Maybe I’ll try and have a threeway with a couple,_ Pansy fantasized, _get the best of both worlds, yeah? Have a man and a woman at the same time, and all that._

The idea sounded unrealistic to her as soon as she thought it, but Pansy was nothing if not _ambitious_ , so she tabled the idea for the meantime, to be revisited at a later date if such an opportunity ever arose.

As she rolled her suitcase past the front desk, stepping outside of the hotel, Pansy smirked to herself, putting on sunglasses and lighting a cigarette. While the experiences she’d had _outside_ of the hotel room hadn’t been what she’d hoped for, the way that she’d confirmed that the Wizarding world was _badly_ lagging behind Muggle society in its fashion was, if nothing else, an eye-opener.

 _Think that I **will** actually try and open a shop, _she decided, _doesn’t seem like anyone else can handle it._

**Author's Note:**

> This completes the spin-off duology, showing the full story of _Pansy's_ time with Padma, alluded to during the most recent chapter of (Revel)ations. 
> 
> I'm really looking forward to hearing what people think of this story - it's a little bit different from the other fics I've written to date, so I'm particularly interested to see if there's any difference in how first-time readers or readers of my main series react to this one!
> 
> All comments and feedback are welcome!


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